


everything you do is magic

by zayndotcom



Series: stupid soulmates [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Mates, Soulmates, also!, and a fuckton of swearing yay, and liam's.. there? kinda, featuring!, harry the witch, louis the weed dealer, niall the werewolf, the werewolfy kind, zayn the one thousand year old vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 02:16:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7148276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zayndotcom/pseuds/zayndotcom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"Harry, control you're magic, it's being all... floaty and weird." Zayn's voice calls out to him in the hallway, his footsteps approaching the door to the kitchen and soon there he is, in all his only black clothing and sheered head glory. True to his words, Harry's magic is being all 'floaty and weird', a pink haze of fog surrounds Zayn, swirling around his head and dancing between his fingertips when he tries to bat it away. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Hey," Harry drawls, offended, "don't attack my magic."</em>
</p><p>Harry has been having some trouble controlling his magic and it might have something to do with local werewolf, Niall Horan. Probably.</p>
            </blockquote>





	everything you do is magic

**Author's Note:**

> why do these always take place in cafés? why do they only meet at the end? why am i writing this when i have like ten exams to study for? lmao. yet another piece of trash soulmate fic by yours truly, this time, narry! woop.  
> title taken from the one od the best songs ever written imo  
> thanks to anyone who gives this a try lmao come back soon for more trash

It's one o'clock in the day and Harry's already somehow managed to singe his hair.  _Pink_. 

He knew he should have declined when Liam asked him to make a potion to help Sophia to relax but he's always been really bad at telling people 'No', _especially_ when faced with Liam's puppy dog eyes, plus Sophia's new job down at the day care center has been making her tense, he wasn't a monster. And now here he is, globs of purpley-pink slime everywhere and singed fucking hair.  

Fuck, he thinks as he's slopping up slime with his mop, how the hell did he mess up a potion that easy? It's one he's known how to make since before he could talk, remembers fondly the memories of his mother trying to teach him the exact measurements of each of the components and then how to add _just a little_ _pinch_  of magic to give it that kick. So it's a bit bizarre that the potion would fuck up this supremely. _His hair's been fucking singed pink._  

With a sigh he shakes off the uneasy feeling in him, slipping and sliding on the frankly gross floor. Harry feels his magic surging inside of him, making his fingers tingle and he knows he's being _laughed_ at. By his own magic no less, traitor. It takes him longer than usual to clean up the mess of the failed potion, not that he messes up regularly. Cough. But he doesn't trust his magic at the moment, it's known for making an arse of him if it can get away with it, so it's not as easy as swiping his hand to BANG!  _and the dirt is gone._ (He smirks to himself at that one, it would have made someone laugh if he wasn't alone. Or had said it out loud) 

Harry doesn't mind cleaning up though, actually quite enjoys it to be honest. There's something therapeutic when it comes to cleaning, kind of like yoga but with less breathing and more slime.   

It takes him an hour to thoroughly cleanse his kitchen and his magic had been fucking with him the whole time. From sparks shooting out of his finger tips, to random pieces of furniture levitating around him and it takes him a few seconds each time to reign it in and take control of it. This was the sort of shit that happened to him when he was a child and just discovering his powers, not when he's twenty two fucking years old. Harry's starting to get legitimately concerned because he's never felt so out of touch with his powers, this could become a huge problem if he doesn't get a grip on it soon.

He's shocked out of stewing in his thoughts when he hears the sound of his front door opening. His magic stretches out of him, assessing the presence of the incomer and Harry immediately relaxes when he feels the instantly recognizable aura of Zayn, the local thousand year old vampire and Harry's best friend.

"Harry, control you're magic, it's being all... floaty and weird." Zayn's voice calls out to him in the hallway, his footsteps approaching the door to the kitchen and soon there he is, in all his only black clothing and sheered head glory. True to his words, Harry's magic is being all 'floaty and weird', a pink haze of fog surrounds Zayn, swirling around his head and dancing between his fingertips when he tries to bat it away.

"Hey," Harry drawls, offended, "don't attack my magic."

Zayn bares his teeth at him, "Reign it in then, I can barely see through this fucking stuff."  Harry's eyes shift and he shuffles on his feet, "About that...", he can feel Zayn getting agitated and he quickly makes an effort to control his magic back into himself. 

It works. Mostly. There's only a sort of pink glow around Zayn, it should probably fade after a while, and with the pink haze gone Zayn's eyes focus on him, "Nice hair, babe." 

Harry blushes, pleased, there's a soft  _pop_ sound and a rose appears in front of Zayn, who raises his eyebrows, "Thanks?". Harry groans, rubbing his eyes with his fingers of which he only notices now are painted pink and  _what the fuck is happening?_  

Zayn plucks the levitating rose from the air and twirls it between his fingers before placing behind his ear and no one has the right to look that gorgeous, especially fucking ancient middle-eastern vampires who were once 'princes'. "I feel like you're stressed," Zayn says and for someone who is centuries old, you think he'd be better at reading humans by now. 

"'Course I'm bloody stressed, my magic been going haywire since I've woke up this morning and I have no idea why!" Harry's fingers start sparking again and he nearly starts screaming but decides to start pacing instead. He glances at Zayn out of the corner of his eye, can see and  _feel_ his amusement, like this is the cutest fucking thing he's ever seen. Fuck, why isn't he more concerned? Can't he  _see_ that Harry's going out of his mind over here? His magics failing him, he can't even  _receive compliments_ without creating flowers out of thin air. What happens if someone makes a passing comment about him and suddenly  _pop!_ there's a fucking flower suspended in mid-air, how's he gonna explain that to the humans? They're gonna bring back witch hunting because of him, just because some innocent person wanted to pay him a compliment and now he's gone and blown everyone's cover. He'll never be able to leave his house again, he'll have to live out the rest of his life alone and ashamed because at twenty two he still couldn't manage to get a handle on his magic. 

"Harry.." Zayn's approaching him now, sounding less amused and more concerned. Good! Maybe now he'll realize just how dire his situation really is. "Harry, I think you need to calm down now." 

" _Calm down?_ " Harry spins around and before he can even blink his magic's surging out of him and Zayn being thrown into the air and through the wall connecting his kitchen and sitting room. With a quick glance around he also notices that he's managed to set a float most of his kitchen appliances and they all simultaneously fall to the ground with a bang. He's just gone a broken his blender, how is he supposed to make smoothies now, like this day could get any worse at this point. 

"Shit." he hears a groan coming from the pile of rubble now occupying his sitting room. "Fuck, Zayn I- Shit, I'm so sorry!" Harry's running into the room through the brand new Zayn shaped hole, tripping over pieces of what used to be his wall. He drops to his kneels beside Zayn's head, who looks slightly confused but otherwise unharmed, kinda hard to hurt a vampire anyway.

"'Am all right, love." Zayn says, sitting up and Harry helps brush some off the plaster caught in his hair. "I'd just like to ask though, what the fuck was that?"

Harry feels like curling up in a ball in the corner of the room and living the rest of his days there, "I don't know," he cries mournfully, "this is what I was talking about! My magic's been acting fucking crazy and I don't know what to do." 

Zayn hums, scratching at his beard like he's some fucking ancient philosopher who has the answer to every problem in the world. 

"I think I know what to do." He says, standing up and rubbing plaster off his ripped jeans, smudging white dust into them. "Stop that," Harry scolds, "you're only making it worse." He'd magic the stain off his pants if he wasn't afraid that that would lead to him getting rid of his entire fucking leg, or worse, his pants. 

Zayn pulls Harry up, tugging him into a side hug and petting his hair, "Don't worry bebs', it'll all be okay." Harry pouts, "You're horrible at comforting people," but allows him to continue petting him. 

***

Turns out Zayn's solution for his problem was bringing him to his weed dealer/local barista, Louis.

"I have you know that I am much more than a weed dealer," Louis scoffs, pouring boiling water into Harry's cup, "and also, you have a horrible taste in tea. Fuckin' _Earl Grey_ , it's a bloody insult that a Yorkie lad like meself even has to touch shite like this."  

Harry blinks, "I'm.. sorry?" His apology earns him another scoff, "Yeah, whatever." And with that he turns away, leaving Zayn and Harry alone at the table. 

"Your plan was to what,  _smoke weed?_ " Zayn shrugs, leaning back in his chair and pulling out a cigarette, fiddling with the filter, like he's weighing up the pros and cons of lighting it up right here in the café. Harry snatches it from him and Zayn blinks lazily at him, "s'what I usually do when I'm stressed." 

Harry shakes his head, "Weed doesn't even have an effect on you! I don't even smoke. That much. _Stop shrugging at me_!" He can feel his magic pulsing inside of him and he can't even tell is it's because of his annoyance or some other random fucking reason. He feels Zayn reaching out to him, saying his name but he can't actually  _hear_ him. 

The  _swoosh_ of the café doors opening distract him and then all of a sudden its like he can't breathe. He's frozen in his chair and his magic is fighting with him, trying to escape from his body to the person who just walked in the door. He can make out Zayn tensing up, snapping his head around to the door at a faster-than-human time and he sees his eyes begin to glow. He knows that the person who just walked through the doors is supernatural, not just from Zayn's reaction, but the feeling he has deep in his bones. Harry feels like he  _knows_ this person, like they knew each other in another life and that's a weird fucking feeling to have about someone you've never even laid eyes on.

The unknown person's aura is calming and warm and before he knows it he's standing up in his chair. Zayn looks ready to jump up and stop him but Harry ignores him, he wheezes in a big breath and clenches fists as he turns around. His eyes lock onto blue ones already staring at him and he breathes in a hitched gasp because,  _shit._ Can you fall in love with someone just because of the colour of their eye, because Harry's pretty sure that that's just happened to him. He's moving before he's even away that his bodies walking, stepping up to this _man_ , (because he is a _man_ , with board shoulders and a hint of dirty blonde stubble lining his chin. Harry wants to climb him like Mount Everest), and getting all up into his personal space. 

Big hands grasp onto Harry's shoulder, just holding him there. " _Mine,_ " a heavily Irish accented voice grits out and Harry tingles all over, melting in his boots. He can vaguely here Zayn  _litreally_ hissing in the background, muttering ". _.fuckin' werewolves.._." and Louis yelling at them to get out of the way of the door but it all fades out until all Harry can here is the rapid beat of his own heart in time with the man's in front of him. Which is...  _weird_ , but nice nonetheless.  

" _Yours,"_ Harry breathes, he has no idea what any of this means but the man's making a pleased sound and it feels  _right_ ,  _good._ He's hoping that sometime later this whole  _thing_ will be explained but his magic finally feels calm and it settles in him in that comforting way it always is. So for now he lets himself be tugged out of the door, giggling when he hears Zayn yelling at him from inside the café and grips the hand of a man he doesn't even know the name of. 

Maybe he'll leave making that potion for Sophia until tomorrow. 

**Author's Note:**

> havent even read over this so probably littered with mistakes im sorry also sorry for the stupidest ending ever D:


End file.
